


Another Unexpected Minifill

by ferowyn



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Bilbofur - Freeform, Durincest, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the prompts I could not resist filling when I should be writing something else</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coward

**Author's Note:**

> Minifill for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5487169#t5487169

### Coward

Bilbo's face is flushed with anger. "Seriously? That was cowardly! You should have stayed and helped me, instead of shoving me into a situation that could have killed me!"

"We brought help," Kili objects, but the damage is already done. He can see his brother's eyes darken. Calling Fili a _coward_ is what hurts him most. Because it's true, isn't it?

Fili is a coward who has never dared to tell Kili that he loves him, while the younger one tells him all the time. However, the two words _brother_ and _prince_ make him doubt them, doubt himself all the time. They are not supposed to be with each other and one day, when Fili is King under the Mountain, their relationship will come to a sudden end. He does neither dare to stand up for their love, nor does he dare to lose himself in it.  
There are quite a few more things he dreads and refuses to face as well, although none of them are as bad as what he is doing to Kili. He fears the darkness of a moonless night, and he is afraid of spiders, and the thought of being king one day troubles him deeply. He does not want this responsibility and if there is any way he can avoid it, he will, coward that he is.

Kili cannot suppress a low, dangerous growl. He knows about his brother's self-esteem issues when it comes to him running from the things that he fears. But that does not make him a coward. It only makes him a dwarf who does not want to deal with the dark sides of life, like anybody else. Fili cannot see that, though.  
Kili sees the older one's fists clench and his lips are but a small, white line. " _Never_ call him a coward _ever_ again."

Bilbo shudders when he hears the young prince's icy voice. He should probably be running, considering the death glare coming from glowing dark eyes, but he is still way too worked up. He could have died! Obviously the dwarves don't care about that tiny little aspect though. "But it's true."

The next thing the hobbit can feel is a seering pain and something warm running down his lips. He cries out - partly out of shock and partly out of hurt - and when he opens his eyes he sees Dwalin's arms wrapped around a furious Kili who is fighting the iron grip fiercly.  
Suddenly Oin is standing in front of Bilbo and the halfling cannot suppress a yelp when experienced, calloused fingers are palpating his features. "... yes, broken nose. That was a nice punch," the old healer grumbles. "Surely hurt his knuckles as well. However, I'm not going to tend them. C'mon, laddie, follow me. I'll take care of your injury."

Bilbo does as he is told, but before he sits down he looks back. Kili is breaking free from Dwalin and running towards his brother, pulling him away from the clearing until they can no longer be seen by the other dwarves. He sees the look on Fili's face and suddenly he is flooded with guilt. Probably he has really struck a nerve.

Kili hugs his the older one, so hard that Fili cannot breathe, but that's okay. "You are no coward," the black-haired prince says, his voice firm and angry. "Don't let anybody tell you otherwise!"

Fili smiles sourly. "I am."

"No. And you might not believe in yourself, but I do believe in you - enough for both of us."

The next smile is honest. "Let's go back. I'll have a look at your hand..."

Kili lets the older one lead them back to the camp and when Fili is cleaning the blood off his knuckles he hears his whisper, so quiet that it could have been the wind: "I love you."

No, Fili is no coward.


	2. Whatever you want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minifill for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=6362433#t6362433

### Whatever you want

Fili feels better than he has in days, now that he is finally returning to Erebor. Being King under the Mountain sucks, even more so because it means making alliances with elves. Not that he hates them like his uncle has done (actually he has to admit that he is quite fond of Legolas, who has proven himself to be rather humorous), but travelling first to Rivendell and then Lorien had taken him a few months and he is missing Kili terribly. Now, however, the group of advisors and warriors – including Balin, Dwalin and Nori – he is travelling with has just passed through Laketown and the impressive front gates of his home are getting closer with every step the ponies take.

Not much later they are close enough to see the single young dwarf waiting for them, though, and Fili feels his heart drop to his boots. Gimli being here and not with Kili is not a good sign. _Not at all_. He runs his pony until he has reached the gates and dismounts it, thrusting the reins into the hands of a guard. "What happened?"

Gimli, one of the few dwarves in Erebor being allowed to do so, does not bow. He seems unsure what to say, which worries the young king even more.  
"Is he hurt? Take me to him!"

Gloin's son – and one of the brothers' closest friends – forces a smile, already leading the way to the king's quarters. "No harm has been done to him, however, he is behaving strangely and none of us know why."

Fili frowns. "Why has nobody not told me about the matter in the letters?"

Gimli squirms uncomfortably. "Because he has told us not to, and since he has been in charge in your absence..." He sighs. "He is in a rather _sour_ mood and does not leave the quarters unless completely necessary. It is a good thing you are here, hopefully he will talk and listen to you." They have reached the door leading to the rooms Fili and Kili are sharing and Gimli knocks.

"Leave me alone!"

The king raises an eyebrow, but (after giving his younger friend a troubled look), opens the door and enters, Gimli leaving them alone. "Kili?"  
His brother is lying in their bed, facing away from the entrance. The older one's voice seems to startle him, for he flinches and then buries himself deeper beneath the covers, not even turning his head.  
Fili thinks his heart stops. "Kili?" he repeats, "What's the matter?"  
The black-haired dwarf does not respond.  
With wide steps the king goes around the bed, kneeling down in front of Kili's face. The younger one has curled himself to a ball, eyes closed and face hidden in the cushions. Fili cannot help but be hurt. "… Kili?" he whispers, again, and he knows that his brother will hear the pain in his voice.

Sure enough Kili's eyes fly open, but they are troubled and nervous.

Fear is settling in the king's heart. "Tell me. _Please_."

Kili shakes his head and Fili sighs. He slips out of his boots and crawls into the bed, still in his travelling clothes, and sets to trail feather light kisses over his brother's face until the younger one slowly uncurls his body, rolls over and lets the blond dwarf spoon him.  
"You look like you have not been sleeping in quite a while," Fili murmurs, his fingers softly closing his beloved's eyes. "Sleep now." He wraps his arm around Kili's hips, resting his hand on the younger one's belly. For a second he is confused when they find a small, unfamiliar bump – if the other one had been eating so much surely Gimli would not have been that worried? – before realization dawns him. " _Kili_?"

The black-haired dwarf tenses immediately. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. He sounds like he has not been talking for weeks. "I know you did not want this…"

Fili is still too surprised to tell him otherwise. "When… how long do you know?"

Kili grimaces. "A few days after you left I started to feel nauseous?"

The king clenches his fists. "This is just _great_ ," he mutters and the black-haired dwarf flinches, pulling away from the older one. "For one time I have to leave and when I return I find out that my beloved is with child and I have missed part of the pregnancy." His eyes are dark. "You should have had someone sent for me, Kili, and I would have returned instantly." He smiles sadly. "I would have loved to hold your hair out of your face every morning, and to have Bombur cook you whatever strange dishes you may have craved." Dwarves are known to have the oddest eating habits of all people in Middle Earth when with child.

It takes Kili a few moments to realize that his brother is not angry at the him, but rather at himself. "You… these negotiations were too important," he murmurs, slowly returning into his king's arms.

"Nothing in this world is more important than you, not even trading agreements with the crazy witch-elf. And now tell me what made you think that I could be unhappy with this?" The king's hands have found their way to the faintly swollen belly and his face is so close to his brother's that the black-haired dwarf needs all of his concentration for keeping breathing.

"I… you never said anything and-"

He is interrupted by a short, soft kiss. "I haven't really thought about it. You know how rare male pregnancies are, I doubted that we'd ever be so lucky…" The older one's smile is dazzling. Finally he seems to have processed the news. "Do you have any idea how happy you are making me?"

Kili takes a deep breath and also smiles, hesitantly. "… not really?"

Fili's eyes are bright. "I'll show you," he promises and his lips find their way down the younger one's body until he rests them on the slight curve of his brother's belly. "Thank you."

The black-haired dwarf watches him, his relief clearly visible. "I love you," he breathes when Fili's lips return to his own.

The king smiles broadly. "Love you, too," he murmurs. "I can't thank you enough."

Kili blushes. "We'll, it's not really something I've done..."

The older one quirks an eyebrow. "You mean rather something we have done?" He smirks. "Still, you are making me increadibly happy." For a few minutes they are silent, simply enjoying each other's presence. Then Fili's eyes find the dark circles under Kili's. "As I said before, you look terribly tired, so… sleep. We'll talk about everything tomorrow." He is still grinning broadly when he plants an affectionate kiss on the too-small nose.

Kili looks at him, biting his lower lip. "Sounds great, but... about what you said before…"

"Which part of it?"

"I'm hungry…"

Fili chuckles softly. "Whatever you want"


	3. Untouchable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minifill for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7331139#t7532355

### Untouchable

Fili had always been able to squeeze Kili’s fingers whenever he had felt the need to make sure that the younger one was fine. Not being able to do so now – it feels like a part of his own body is missing.

He reaches for his brother's hand, outstretching his arm, but the younger one is already too far away to take it. The distance between them increases and when he sees the other half of their company stumble into the (doubtful) safety of dead rock, strong and not moving, he knows that he is the one who is in bigger danger, but he could not care less.  
Kili is not at his side, where he belongs, and when the sharp edges of the mountain are coming closer as the giant stumbles he knows that he cannot die. Not now, not like this.  
Not until he has held Kili's hand again.

It is a small miracle that all of them have made it out of that battle among giants relatively unscathed and Fili is still shaking. His fingers are clutching his brother’s – maybe a little too hard, but Kili does not say anything – and he knows he cannot let go. He feels a little stupid, like a dwarfling holding their mother’s hand, but he does not care because he knows that neither does Kili.  
A calloused thumb softly brushes over the skin on the back of his hand and the brown eyes are barely visible in the dim light of the cave.  
“Sleep,” Kili whispers. “I won’t be going anywhere.”  
And finally Fili closes his eyes, his whole being concentrated on the younger one’s fingers, squeezing his own reassuringly.

He is running, following Gandalf and his uncle through the maze of Goblin town, trying to be wherever his brother is. There is a sword in each of his hands and he knows he could not take Kili’s fingers even if he were running next to him.  
It hurts physically, and it leaves him raging with pain and fear. Fear that he will never be able to grasp those fingers that seem to be made to be entwined with his again. He thinks that if he had the time for fighting like he wants to be he would be unnecessarily cruel, tormenting those goblins that are keeping him from taking his brother’s hand. But as it is they are outnumbered, and running, and all he can do is slaughter those ugly creatures in whatever way possible, not caring whether their death is swift or long and painful.  
Then they are falling and he is holding onto old wood instead of soft flesh.  
He cannot see Kili and he realizes that to be even worse.

They may be dangling from a tree, abyss open beneath them, and they may need all of their strength to hold on, but still Fili loosens the grip of one of his hands and swings his legs until he gets close enough to where Kili is to put his fingers over his brother's.  
The younger one’s smile is strained, but it is there and together they try to climb onto the trunk of the tree, just in time to go to the halfling’s rescue.  
Fili thinks nothing has ever been harder in his life than to release his brother’s fingers and grab his swords instead.

The descent had been long and exhausting – considering the fact that all of them have injuries of some kind – and the narrow path had not offered enough space for two dwarves walking next to each other. Fili had let Kili take the lead, his fingers not once releasing their grasp.  
They have set up camp by now, and everyone but him is fast asleep. He had offered to take first watch, knowing that he would lie awake anyway.  
Thus he is sitting next to the dying fire, his back against a boulder and Kili’s head in his lap. One of his hands is buried in the long, dark hair, the other one is still clutching the younger one’s fingers. He should keep the fire going but there is no way he is going to let go of his brother.

No. He is not going to let go ever again.


	4. Pulchritude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minifill for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7657027#t7924035

### Pulchritude

Bofur is staring into the flames.

He thinks about the tales and songs that can be heard in any dwarven hall, soft words telling about how Aulë’s children have one true love and about how that is a blessing and about how they are so much luckier than any other race. He thinks that everything that is a blessing is also a curse and how unfair it is that he is one of the few who feel only the latter. He thinks about his mother’s soft smile, when she had told him how happy he would be. That, one day, he would meet that person who was going to mean everything to him.

Bofur has heard Gloin talk about the beauty of his wife’s voice, and Dwalin about the beauty of Ori’s poems, and Kili about the beauty of Fili’s laughter.  
He knows that every dwarf defines beauty in their own way, and that what they call _Pulchritude_ is what makes their heart beat so hard and fast that they forget everything around them, no matter what. It is what they love most about their One, and what their One does only for them.

Bofur decides that it does not have to be done solely for him, because otherwise he would never know his. And whether Bilbo’s eyes are shining because of his jokes and tales or because of Thorin’s rare smiles does not change anything about the racing of his heart and him forgetting to breathe.

He is telling himself that seeing it at all is enough, because it has to be.  
Thus he fights back the tears when he hears Bombur mumble something about how beautifully tasty blueberry pies can be and forces a smile, watching the reflections of the flames dance in Bilbo’s eyes. The hobbit is sitting next to their leader, talking and laughing, and Bofur tries to convince himself that if he only feels it often enough now he will be able to live off the memory for the rest of his long, lonely life.

Because that is all he will ever have – memories of a fluttering heart and the dreams of what could have been.

He tries to imagine it, tries to imagine how much more beautiful that sparkle in Bilbo’s eyes would be if it were meant for him, and what he would have to do in order to make the hobbit forget the rest of the world. Maybe Bilbo would mutter soft words of beauty whenever seeing his dimples, or hearing him play his clarinet. The thought makes him smile and he thinks that he might spend the rest of his days dreaming, for waking up hurts and the dreams can offer him eyes that are beyond beautiful, even if they are only a cheap copy of what they could be.

Either that, or he will bury the word _Pulchritude_ deep down, beneath the pieces of his shattered heart and never think of it again.


	5. Soigné

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minifill for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7657027#t7924035
> 
> I may be feeling rather sadistic at the moment... and yes, this is kind of a sequel to _Pulchritude_. How many parallels do you find? ;)

### Soigne

Bilbo catches himself staring at him yet _again_.

He forces his gaze away and looks at Thorin instead. Because that is what he always does, the only way he knows. And then Thorin smiles at him - as he always does - and Bilbo thinks it may be unfair that he gives the King reasons to smile at him like that, but that he has to be selfish for once during this blasted quest. Because he is already giving up so much, losing what he has been waiting for for his whole life, and he needs something to hold on to. It had started completely innocently and well-meaning, as a way of distracting himself: How often would he manage to make Thorin smile one of those rare smiles? It had been the only pastime able to keep him from staring and thinking and pining. However, it had soon gotten out of hand.

He has heard the dwarves talk about outstanding beauty and their one true love. And he has seen Bofur’s wistful smile, the same smile that he had watched dance around Dwalin’s and Ori’s lips before they had finally approached each other. The same smile that never seems to leave Gloin’s face, or Bombur’s. Both of them have wives, back at home, and it is very clear what this says about Bofur.

Bilbo clenches his fists and forces himself not to look at the dwarf with the silly (lovely) hat, trying to concentrate on his conversation with Thorin.

Thorin smiles at him and it is _that_ smile and Bilbo thinks that the guilt that is boiling in his stomach is scalding him, hot and painful. Well, it is only a fair punishment for not telling the king the truth. He may never have said that he harbours feelings of any kind for Thorin, but he has never denied it either. He tries to talk about forging and fighting and whatever topics the tall dwarf likes, however, he cannot help but think about the pain that sets his blood on fire every time he sees Bofur smile _that_ way and he knows that it is his fault if the same agony will surge through the King’s veins one day.

Suddenly Balin is standing next to them and taking Thorin with him and Bilbo is left alone with his thoughts once again. It is exactly why he had been talking to Thorin - in order to keep his thoughts and dreams in check.

He manages not to let them wander for about two minutes. Then his eyes have fallen upon Bofur, who is currently rebraiding his plaits, chatting away with his cousin. Bilbo tries to ignore the shiver running down his spine when he hears the rough Khuzdul that makes sound Bofur’s voice completely different from when he is speaking Westron.

It takes all his strength and self-control to look away.

Bilbo finds himself staring into the fire instead, loosing himself in the flickering of the hot, flaring flames. Soon there are dark shadows dancing in front of his eyes and when he closes them he can almost see the hall of Bag End, a mattock leaning against the wall and a silly (lovely) hat on the hat rack. Small toys made of wood and metal seem to be lying around everywhere and deep, happy laughter is filling the rooms. He can actually hear it through the spiting of the fire, distant and silent as it may be. He also smells the smoke of two pipes, and there is this feeling of _home_ that makes the evening – sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking a cup of tea and reading or talking or just being together – perfect. It seems to be overwhelming.

Bilbo knows that he should stop dreaming, because the more beautiful the dream, the more painful waking up will be, but it seems so _real_ that he cannot let go of it just yet.

Bofur would be sitting in his favourite armchair (because everyone has to have a favourite chair in their home) in the living room, and the fire would be dying, the living room lit dimly by only a couple of candles. He would be smoking and Bilbo would let his fingers run through the soft, long hair, rebraiding it until his beloved’s appearance was soigné once more, just as it should be after a long day's work followed by a hot bath. And then he would sit down on Bofur’s lap, cuddle into the taller one and the moustache would be tickling his forehead. And Bofur would turn his head, and press an affectionate kiss to the very spot. Most likely he would fall asleep there and his dwarf would carry him into their bedroom and they would sleep curled around each other, their legs entangled.

It would be _perfect_.

Bilbo also thinks about the reactions of the other hobbits, because that makes it even more realistic. Although Bofur may not be as neat as the Shirelings he is very soigné for a dwarf and they would get used to his presence and fall to his charm. Bofur would be smiling his broad smile, and the dimples would leave all the hobbits breathless, and Bilbo more than anyone else. Whenever he sees them he forgets to breathe for a few moments and the whole world seems to fade, because that smile – it would be _that_ smile, but directed at _him_ – is what lightens up his dark nights and he would do anything just to see those dimples. He imagines that Bofur would be smiling just for him and no one else and that he would know what his smile is doing to Bilbo. And that he would be smiling it all the more, _because_. He would like to have his hobbit breathless and with a stuttering heart.

Bilbo is still staring into the flames, not really seeing them at all. He knows he is probably smiling _that_ smile and that nobody should see it, because they are going to believe that he is thinking about Thorin. But cannot look away, not yet. Who knows how long he will be able to enjoy this?

And sure enough suddenly a heavy hand drops to his shoulder and he is startled. For a last moment he still sees it – Bag End and the silly (lovely) hat on the hat rack and the dimples – but then the dream is lost and Thorin is sitting down next to him. _Smiling_.

Bilbo knows, he cannot look at him. Not now. Not when the words _beloved_ and _his dwarf_ are still echoing in his head. He has sworn to himself not to think them, because they make everything so much worse, but he cannot help it and here he is now, trying to forget them but hearing them as loud and clear as if Thorin were yelling them into his ears.

Thorin.

He pales a little, but he does what he knows best, these days: He forces a smile and waits for the expected twitching of the King’s lips. And then he lets the guilt drown the pain and the images that now are nothing more than vapid copies of what he had lost himself in only minutes ago. He knows that the remedy is worse than the disease here, because the happiness of another being is the price and Bilbo hates himself for doing this. However, the self-loathing and the guilt are easier to bear than the agony. Which does not make it any better, rather to the contrary.  
And while he keeps telling himself that it still is not fair, that it does not excuse his actions, there is this one thought he cannot suppress entirely: That they will probably all die during this quest anyway. And he cannot help but somehow hope that Thorin will fall before he finds out that Bilbo does not reciprocate his love. The hobbit feels cruel and sick for even thinking it, but he cannot deny that it would be kinder.

He can tell. He knows the pain.


	6. The King's Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minifill for Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=8188739#t8188739

###  The King's Best Friend

It may not be easy to be the King's sister, or one of his nephews, or – even worse – one of the counsellors. Thorin is known for his bad temper throughout Middle Earth and no matter how fierce the dwarves of Durin’s kin may be, a raging King under the Mountain is just beyond scary. Whenever Thorin is in a foul mood everyone is trying their best to stay out of his way. At all costs. Which usually makes everything only worse, since nephews not answering his questions and sisters ignoring him and advisors not turning up at all are not exactly calming the angry dwarf.

Before the dragon had attacked Erebor Thorin had not been king. Already back then had he been known as testy, but he had not had to deal with the rather annoying and frustrating matters that ruling a kingdom brings upon its monarch and he had never had much reason to rampage. During the time of his exile there had been no time and place for throwing tantrums, so then nobody had known either. But after many years of waiting and dreaming they had finally marched to reclaim their mountain and Thorin had ascended his throne, completely underestimating how much of a bother those huge, impressive halls would be.

Do not get me wrong, he is a good king, even a great one. But that does not protect his subjects from his wraths, the number of which being inversely proportional to the amount of sleep he gets. Which is usually not much. Well, not that most of the ordinary dwarves Erebor ever see him lose his control. He takes very good care of that - which basicall means that those close to him have to deal with his bad moods and most of them tend to run whenever that angry vein at Thorin’s neck starts to swell yet again.

Even Balin, who has known the King for all his life, usually makes himself scarce when Thorin makes any signs of yelling (or rather roaring and ranting and occasionally throwing furniture against the walls). And if he does not dare to stay, how could anyone ask that from the other counsellors?

However, there is one dwarf who never runs. There is one dwarf who does not leave his king’s side no matter how foul Thorin’s mood is. There is one dwarf who dares to stay and draw the King’s angry attention. There is one dwarf who knows exactly what to say in each and every situation and who has the highly valued ability to calm Thorin down.  
Dwalin has seen too many cruel things in his life to let a little (or rather huge) wrath upset him, and – moreover – he has seen most of those things together with Thorin. Nothing but death could separate those two (and even the Grim Reaper himself would have a hard time, considering both warriors’ fierceness and their unbroken will to fight). They are more than brothers in arms – they are brothers in everything but blood (and even the blood flowing through their veins is related, if not as closely as Fili and Kili’s). They are best friends, and as well as threatening one of them also means threatening the other (usually a very bad idea, no matter who is the one insulted) angering one means angering the other. Which makes all of Dwalin’s abilities to calm Thorin down futile.

While there are (very) few cases when the King’s wraths are not really anybody’s fault the reason for yet another tantrum thrown in the throne room mostly is a dwarf from Erebor or an elf or some other dwarf or an elf or a stupid man or and elf or a meddling wizard or, only very rarely, an elf. And while Dwalin would be able to soothe Thorin’s nerves he usually takes delight in riling him up even more.

And even if it may be Fili who is sitting on Thorin’s right side, his mother besides him, and Kili on his left, next to Balin, no distance across the huge table would be long enough to hide an amused sparkling of dark eyes in otherwise serious faces.  
And maybe the occasional prank making the lives of the two princes harder may have been pulled by the King and his best and most loyal friend. Unbelievable as it sounds, nobody manages to look more innocently than the fierce dwarf who has lived through more hardship than peace. Which is probably the reason why nobody ever really understands (or why all those who have an idea about what has happened refuse to believe it) why Thranduil always ends up being on the receiving end of some kind of mischief whenever he visits. Because although Fili and Kili may be skilled pranksters, they do not have the _expertise_ to overcome the elven King’s senses. However, an aging king and his elderly warrior friend do.

And while Dwalin might ‘only’ be the head of Erebor’s guards and troops, not something as fancy as his brother, who can call himself chief advisor of the royal council nowadays, he does not care.  
Because, what do all those titles matter? In the ends they are nothing more or less than Thorin and Dwalin. Best friends beyond all boundaries.


End file.
